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Angus says if you order a cappuccino after lunch in Italy, expect some funny looks.;Apparently, Italians opt for espresso or a much “shorter” ristretto shot of coffee late in the day, because the lower caffeine content is less likely to affect sleep patterns.

I say what does it matter?; We’re ripping through Italy in a brand-new, bright-orange Dodge Challenger SRT8, generating funny looks and insomnia everywhere we go.

It begins in Lake Iseo as we reluctantly leave our beautiful lakeside hotel. As we cruise around a traffic circle toward the autostrada, a teenage pedestrian crossing the street catches my attention with a shout and a come hither motion.;He wants revs or a burnout — anything to validate the SRT8’s distinctly American curvitude. Caught off-guard, I do the best I can to oblige — matting the throttle to bring up the roar of the Hemi V-8.;The hollow bellow brings a smile to his face, but not to mine.

All is not right with our world.;Sure, we’re in Italy, on the trip of a lifetime, but there has been something gnawing at the collective conscience of our little European expeditionary party since the blast from Stuttgart to Innsbruck two days ago.;We’ve talked about it during the drive and on breaks in between: This car can do better than 159 mph.

So we decide to make another attempt along a quiet stretch of the autostrada in northern Italy. Unlike our rainsoaked try on the autobahn, the weather won’t be a factor today. It is clear, bright, and sticky warm.;Traffic is not going to be an issue, either — we prerun the road first and find it smooth and fast, with only the lightest sprinkle of cars and trucks.

Angus goes first with video cameras rolling and returns with breathless news.;“We hit an indicated 168,” he says with twinkle in his eye.;”Coulda’ been faster, but I had to lift a bit for the sweepers — at over 160 miles per hour.”

I follow with photographer Brian in tow and take advantage of Angus’ run before me.;We’re able to get on the throttle sooner and longer and take better advantage of the straightaways.;As with our previous attempts, the big Dodge responds without complaint — surging ahead to 140 mph, then 150.;The climb past 160 mph takes a few heartbeats longer, the needle arcing slowly past the penultimate number on the speedo: Next stop, 180 mph.;

;”…161……163……” calls out Brian as he snaps off shots of the digital speedo from the back seat.

My eyes don’t leave the road ahead, though I probably could take at least one hand off of the wheel — so stable is the Challenger at this speed.

;”…165……168...”;

There is no lightness in the steering, no harmonic speed wobble or front end lift to indicate instability. The only evidence of our stunning velocity is the roar and blur of the outside world through the glass. Very impressive.

;”…171……173…“

Ahead is the same set of gentle sweepers for which Angus had to lift, so I do the same.;Gently off the gas, I cover the brake pedal but do not depress it.;We coast smoothly — at well over 160 mph — through a gentle right then left. Unfortunately, there’s not enough roadway left for another attempt, so 173 will have to do; our high-speed run has put us behind schedule.

News of our 173-mph run lightens everyone’s mood. Says Angus: “Amazing. Ten years ago, if you did 170 in an American car you could only be talking about a Corvette or Viper. You know — a proper;sports car — not a big coupe.”

As it’s the weekend, both factories are closed.;We knew this going in, and so decide to skip the visit to Sant’Agata for the sake of time.;Sure, there is stronger Chrysler connection with Lamborghini — Chrysler owned them from 1987 to 1994 — but Ferrari‘s factory has, well, Ristorante il Cavallino just across the street.

Though not officially affiliated with Ferrari S.p.A. — the restaurant does brisk business catering to the thousands of visitors the famed sports-car manufacturer receives every year.;It is also thought to be the company’s unofficial eating spot (though true fans argue that the Ristorante Montana, just down the road, is the “real” Ferrari restaurant).;Though this place is normally crowded with fans of the brand worldwide, we’re seated immediately in the main room, surrounded by old saddles (cavallino is Italian for “horse”), Ferrari models and tons of motorsport memorabilia.;Why so empty? Formula 1 is on and local visitors are holed up to catch the action.;For us, all the action we need comes from the kitchen. Caprese di bufala (tomato and buffalo mozzarella), pappardelle al ragu di cinghiale (pasta with wild boar sauce), costolette d’agnello di scudito (grilled lamb chops) — lip smacking dishes from the surrounding Emilia-Romagna region.;Despite Angus’ advice, a couple of us finish our memorable meal with cappuccinos (the extra caffeine to help fight off the coming carb-induced coma) before heading out for some quick photos in front of the restaurant and factory gates.;Next on our list is a drive through the two passes that make up part of the famed Mille Miglia.

“This looks like Laurel Canyon,” cracks a wiseacre over the walkie-talkie, referring to the famous stretch of curvy road that connects Hollywood and the San Fernando Valley in California.

“Except there’s no traffic,” replies Angus, “and this a great driving road.”

Indeed it is, judging by the hordes of leather-suited crotchrockeeters zipping all around.;We’re in the city of Fiorenzuola d’Arda, midway between Bologna and Florence, driving the Passo della Futa (Futa Pass) — a tight, but spectacular two-lane road that winds up into the Apennine Mountains. We summit at just below 3000 ft and head higher, on to Passo della Raticosa (Raticosa Pass). Together, these two passes make up part of the famous Mille Miglia (1000 mile) endurance race. Like the Targa Florio and Carrera Panamerica, the Mille Miglia has a special place in automotive history for bestowing fame to brands like Alfa Romeo, Ferrari, Maserati, and Porsche and drivers including the great Tazio Nuvolari, Stirling Moss, and Juan Manuel Fangio. There is a Chrysler connection here as well — in the 1953 Mille Miglia, Paul Frere drove a Chrysler Saratoga over these roads to a first place finish in the over 2.0L class. Though it is no longer run in earnest — the last race on these passes occurred in 1957, after a horrific accident killed a Ferrari driver and a navigator as well as 11 bystanders — the Mille Miglia Storica, a revival run for pre-1957 cars, is run every year along the same route.

And what a route it is; two- and four-wheel fans flock to this part of Italy for the smooth, well-cambered roads and spectacular scenery.;Though she’s a bit wide for the twisty bits, we’re able to hustle the Challenger quickly along the route — windows down, taking in the warm air and gorgeous soft sunlight.;On some of the tighter sections, the SRT8 shows her weight.; Downhill, she can wash out of corners taken too quickly.;Sharp uphill transitions can result in bogging, as the inside rear wheel spins helplessly in the air; a limited-slip differential would fix that right up. Otherwise, the Challenger is not as ungainly out here as you might expect.;In fact, as the miles pile up, we’re finding the big Dodge to be a great GT car.

Especially if you like drawing a crowd. So far, of all the places we’ve been in Europe, the Italians have been the most responsive to the Challenger.;Sure the Brits noticed it, but did it with furtive, sidelong glances.;A few Frenchies gawked openly, but many more simply blasted an irritated horn at us, as they sped by on their little scooters.;Italians, however, are passionate people and have no problem telling you what they think about your car — verbally or otherwise.;Many passing bikers gave us the thumbs up as we rolled by — one even sent up a wild fist pump as he came out of a knee-scraping corner.;As we cruise through the small towns that dot both Passos, every man, woman, and child stop to point and stare.

When we stop at the summit of Raticosa, in front of a popular biker cafe, we are swarmed immediately by espresso-quaffing guys in Dainese jackets and SPIDI boots.;Out pop cell-phone cameras, excited gesturing, and a garbled mix of Italian and broken English.

“Too big,” says one, “but sounds fabulous,” Another biker grows excited as we pop the hood. “Quanti cavalli [How many horses]?” he asks while staring at the engine.

When we tell him 425 horsepower, he responds with a quizzical “Solo?” That’s it?

For all its American curves and swagger, there’s an honesty to the Challenger. I feel like if we had a different car with us — something more exotic, like an Audi R8 or Porsche 911 Turbo — we would not receive such an enthusiastic and friendly response.;National pride, particularly given our proximity to Modena, would no doubt intervene and the locals would dismiss us as poseurs before the altar of Ferrari and Lamborghini. Our Challenger evokes a different reaction.; At first glance, it is obviously not in the same class as a F430 or Gallardo, but to the Italians that’s perfectly fine.;None of their home-team manufacturers — from Ferrari down to Fiat — has anything like this big Dodge.;Yet our car turns just as many heads when we pull back on to the autostrada and head down to Florence. That is why they covet it.

It’s a shame Italy won’t be getting the new Challenger, because, boy, do the Italians get it.

More from the road as we explore Tuscany on Day 6 of our Ultimate (European) Challenger Road Trip.

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